Super Max and the Mystery of Thornwood's Revenge

by Susan Vaught

  Had I ever seen my grandfather look so tired? So unhappy? I shivered as I tried to think of something to say to ease his mind.

  “This hacker,” Toppy went on, “he’s moving things to a whole new level. It’s too dangerous in Blue Creek right now.”

  “Too dangerous.” I felt like I was turning to ice. Frozen. A winter statue. “You mean for me?”

  Toppy nodded.

  “That’s stupid.” I had never in my life been so angry that I couldn’t just jump up and hit somebody, or run. Really run, and never stop until I found the perfect place to hide. “I’m fine here. I’ve got a guard, and Mom, and you. I’m safe!”

  “I worried about you every minute, all night,” he whispered. “I should have done this after the school fire, but I guess I was being selfish, wanting you with me.”

  “Stop talking!” I jerked my hands off the cold floor and covered my ears. “Don’t say it!”

  Toppy frowned. I didn’t move my hands. So he talked loud enough for me to hear him anyway. “Max, you have to go stay with your Mom until we get this mess settled.”

  I kept my chilled fingers crammed against my ears and started yelling. I didn’t even know what I was saying. I didn’t even know what I was thinking.

  Except, Toppy’s face . . . the tears in his eyes . . .

  My heart tore and fell into a million pieces, and I started to cry, too.

  When my grandfather scooped me up and pulled me into his lap like I was five, I beat on his shoulders for a few seconds. He didn’t let me go, and he let me cry and say ugly things to him, and cry some more.

  When I finally wore myself down to quiet sniffles, he kissed the top of my head and said, “This hacker business is out of hand, Max.”

  I didn’t talk to him. I couldn’t.

  “My old Sienna will never make it cross-country. New wheelchair van will be here Tuesday morning, and I’ll transfer the title to your mother so you two can take it to California.”

  “Stop,” I whispered. “Don’t. Just, don’t, okay?”

  Toppy rocked me, and I wanted to tell him to knock it off, but I couldn’t do that, either.

  “It won’t be forever,” he said.

  “You’re lying!”

  “I never lie to you, Max. You know that.”

  After a time, he got up from the cold workshop floor, and he carried me to bed, telling the guard to shut off the heater and drive the chair inside.

  When he put me in the bed and covered me up, I turned over and stared at the wall. I didn’t want to look at him, and I didn’t want to talk anymore. I didn’t even want to keep my eyes open.

  It didn’t take long for me to cry myself to sleep.

  I dreamed about a parliament of owls descending on Blue Creek, tearing everything apart with their bramble-covered talons.

  19

  DECEMBER 11

  SCHOOL CANCELLED . . .”

  “ACCOUNTS ROBBED . . .”

  “CARS AND BUILDINGS VANDALIZED . . .”

  “BEDLAM IN BLUE CREEK . . .”

  “COUNCIL TO EVALUATE OPTIONS . . .”

  I had about a dozen Facebook and iMessages from Jace and Cindy and other kids at school that I just didn’t feel like answering. I checked the newsfeeds on my iPad every so often, wincing at the brutal headlines, and messaged back and forth with Lavender from the workshop.

  Lavender: Is Toppy home?

  Me: He left before I got up.

  Lavender: The new corkboard looks cool.

  Me: Cool but useless. I’m checking connections between the sites hit last night and also working on my chair. High school, nursing home, abandoned building, car lot. What do these places have in common?

  Lavender: They’re all in Blue Creek?

  Me: Very funny. My new phone is almost charged. I’ll call.

  Lavender: I don’t want to talk about you going to California.

  Me: Me neither.

  Mom finally came out to check on me around noon. She handed the trooper guarding the door a steaming mug of something-or-other, then brought over a sandwich and chips for me.

  The second she put it down, I started getting hot inside, but when she set the plate down beside me, I made myself say, “Thanks.”

  I put my mock control box aside, but kept hold of my screwdriver, squeezing it way too hard.

  Mom scrubbed her hands against her jeans, then rubbed her arms through her dark green sweater. I waited for her to sit, but she kept standing, obviously worried about something.

  Finally, she came out with, “Are you angry with me?”

  “Yes!” Too loud.

  Too bad.

  “I’m mad at you. I’m mad at Toppy, too!” My voice just kept getting louder. “And that disgusting hacker. And the mean, hateful City Council. Maybe I’m just mad at everybody.”

  My face burned. My head started to pound, right at the temples where it made my vision blur. “And I really don’t want to talk about it. Why did you come out here?”

  “I thought you might be hungry,” Mom said quietly.

  I had to quit breathing so hard just to hear her. I was out of my chair so I couldn’t read whatever Breathes or Fights hadn’t gotten wiped off yet—and I didn’t feel like listing superheroes right now. No matter what I did to my chair or my heart or my mind, I couldn’t haul this load.

  Just don’t hurt people, that therapist told me about when I got really REALLY mad and couldn’t hold back. Just don’t hurt yourself.

  I threw the screwdriver as hard as I could in the other direction, away from Mom. It clattered against the shop’s aluminum walls, and that felt good.

  Mom didn’t even blink.

  I threw a second screwdriver.

  Then I threw a wrench. It made a really, really loud noise.

  “Cool,” Mom said. “Like breaking plates, only without all the glass.”

  The throb in my head was easing, but every muscle in my body felt wrapped too tight. I stared at Mom, but at least I didn’t want to hurl anything at her head.

  “We’ll make it like a winter vacation to the beach, okay?” she said. “We’ll take your paints and markers, and your engraving tools, and I’m sure I can find you a garage that’ll let you work on your chair.”

  Breathe. Come on, Max. In and out. Just keep breathing. I made myself look Mom in the eye. “Can I get a tattoo?”

  Still too loud, but better.

  Mom’s mouth came open. Then closed. Then opened again. “That’s cheating, Max.”

  “It was worth a shot.”

  We went several minutes without talking, and I did a lot of breathing, and made it all the way to Spider-Man in the Marvel S’s. The heat slowly, slowly faded, and then I got a little cold.

  “What have you been doing out here all morning?” Mom asked.

  “I built a new model of my controls so I could experiment with what might shut them off without destroying my actual controls.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought to do that,” Mom admitted.

  That made me laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m no genius. I blew up my actual control box last year, and since then I work on models first.”

  “Toppy never tells me when you blow stuff up,” Mom said. “Which is probably for the best. Have you figured anything out?”

  “Power surges will do it.” I reached over and patted the chair. “If enough current goes through the controller, it overloads the wireless parts, and zap. Then, after a few seconds, it’ll power up again.”

  “So . . . you were getting power surges at Thornwood?” Mom looked completely confused.

  “I don’t think so.” I poked at my sandwich with one fingertip. Roast beef and provolone. I actually liked that, as long as she used spicy mustard.

  “All the wiring in that place is probably decades old,” Mom said. “Wouldn’t that be enough to shoot a few sparks and cause the problem?”

  “No, you don’t understand.” I picked up the sandwich and tried a bite. The tang of the mustard made my eyes water. Perfect.
After I swallowed, I tried to explain. “If something was electrified, or that much power was traveling through stuff at Thornwood, we should have gotten shocked—or at least the people touching metal things or not on rubber wheels—and how would it travel through my wheels, anyway? I’m grounded the same way a car is if lightning hits it, you know?”

  “No, I really don’t know. Sorry. I know exactly nothing about wires and currents.” Mom rubbed her hands together. “Would Ms. Springfield be able to tell you if there’s anything electrical at Thornwood that’s acting up? Or maybe Junior would know?”

  “Couldn’t hurt to ask, I guess.” I reached over and scooped up my iPad and messaged the question to Lavender. Then I asked Mom about the blurry photo. “Have you had any luck getting us a clear image?”

  “It’s better, but you can’t read anything yet,” she said. “I’ve got some software downloading on my Mac. I’ll keep working on it.”

  “Good luck with downloading on our Internet,” I told her. “Toppy’s connection isn’t much better than dial-up. I mostly use the iPad’s wireless signal for any data and surfing.”

  “Yeah, I figured that out.” Mom’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ve been using my phone as a hotspot. Speaking of which, last night, Dad called me to ask which phone to get you. He wanted one that worked well with your iPad. Just wanted you to know he gave it a lot of thought.”

  “I really don’t—I mean, he didn’t have to do that.”

  Mom bit her bottom lip. “Have you tried the phone yet?”

  “I’ll check the charge in a few minutes and call Lavender,” I said, really not wanting to talk about the phone, or going to California, or any of it.

  “Sounds good.” And then, “I really am sorry, Max. About . . . everything.”

  She sounded like she meant it.

  “We’re going to the City Hall for the Council meeting tonight,” I said. Not a question. More like a bargaining chip. Give this to me, and I won’t throw a fit about having to suffer in California for a while.

  Mom gave me a stare just shy of one Toppy might muster when he was shocked by something I said or did. I waited for her to argue with me, but she stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll work that out.”

  20

  How did you get these made so fast?” I asked Lavender, gaping at the purple hoodie she handed me in front of City Hall, which stood across from the police station, on the opposite side of Town Square from Bot’s Electronics.

  Stenciled gold letters on the front read, Support Toppy. On the back, the letters said, Punish Hackers, Not Victims.

  “Mom did them with the heat press at Something Wicked,” Lavender said as she handed Mom her own hoodie. Lavender was already wearing hers, and when she jerked her thumb toward her mom, who was holding the front doors open, I saw that Ms. Springfield matched. To my surprise, Junior Thornwood was with her, and he was wearing a Support Toppy hoodie, too. He scanned the crowd beginning to surge into Town Square, and when I followed his gaze, I saw lots of State Troopers, a local news crew, and a couple of news vans from Nashville, too.

  Poor Toppy.

  He hated attention like this.

  I went straight to the restroom and put my sweatshirt on, and touched the letters of his name. The message went well with the black-outlined yellow STOP THE MADNESS I had painted across the back of my chair. On my right leather armrest, I had written Focus in bright silver. On the left armrest, I had printed Believe in gold. On both arms, I had carefully inscribed Strong, using a blue paint pen.

  Mom came into the bathroom behind me, holding her purple hoodie. She glanced around. “Wow, that stall is tiny.”

  “Yeah,” I told her. “I wouldn’t fit even on the side that’s supposed to accommodate wheelchairs. Lots of bathrooms are like that. There’s another in the back of the building, just a single toilet—I can go there if I need to.”

  Mom frowned. Then she pulled on her hoodie, covering the nicer blouse she had picked for the meeting. Her hair got static-y from touching the fabric, and it poofed up, curling around her face in bright red rings.

  She examined herself in the mirror. “I don’t know about this,” she said.

  “Toppy says being quiet in the face of injustice never helped anything,” I told her.

  Mom didn’t agree or disagree. She just looked nervous as she held the door for me to roll out. Without commenting, she followed me down the hall, watching as I dodged at least four people who didn’t see the chair and almost stepped on me.

  When a fifth person stumbled over my legs, Mom said, “I think I’ll get you a boat horn.”

  “That would be awesome,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to make people’s ears bleed when they won’t get out of my way.”

  She held the door to the City Council chamber, and I rolled inside.

  Blue Creek was a small town, but the chamber was nice enough, with paneled walls, track lighting, and a very blue carpet. There were two large screens hanging on the far wall, behind seven chairs built into a wooden semicircle underneath the town crest. An American flag and a Tennessee flag bracketed the crest.

  Each seat had a nameplate and microphone in front of it. The chairs faced a center table that had a bench built to face the Council seats. Behind all that was a gallery with theater-like chairs, only they weren’t cushy and comfortable, just old, with rundown blue leather covers. A lot of people had crammed into those chairs, and more were standing in the handicapped section. When Mom asked them to move, they tried to throw her some attitude, and got Lavender, Ms. Springfield, Mom, and Mayor Chandler in their faces.

  As the interlopers hung their heads and shuffled out of the wheelchair section, Mayor Chandler motioned me forward. “Sorry about that,” she said.

  “Happens a lot,” I told her. “You’re lots better at getting people to move than the movie theater ushers.”

  Mayor Chandler, looking elegant in her black slacks and blue sweater, shot the rude people one last epic frown. Then she gestured for Mom and Ms. Springfield and Lavender to have a seat nearby.

  “Is Toppy ready?” I asked the mayor.

  “If by ready you mean dressed in his best uniform and pinkie-sworn not to holler at anybody for being ignorant, then yes.” She smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her sweater. “A little nervous about you being here, though.”

  “I know some people may say ridiculous stuff,” I told her. “I won’t believe any of it.”

  “I think he’s more worried you’ll tell them off.” Mayor Chandler smiled at me. “I reminded him you were smart, and that you knew a lot better than that.”

  From somewhere nearby, Lavender broke into a full-fledged laughing fit. Her mother chastised her, but she kept right on giggling and snorting.

  “I’ll be fine,” I told Mayor Chandler. “Except, when I murder my best friend, you’ll help me hide the body, right?”

  She saluted, face grave. “I’ve got your back, Max.”

  Then she gave me a pat on the shoulder and headed to the middle seat on the Council dais, the one underneath the city crest and between the flags. State Troopers filed in and took up positions here and there along the walls, eyes wide and alert.

  “So many people,” Mom said from my right, sounding anxious. Ms. Springfield and Lavender had the two seats in front of her, and Junior Thornwood was standing behind us, very close to one of the doors.

  For a long time, people worked their way toward Council seats, while others went to the middle table. Most folks tried to find places in the gallery, and to sit where the television cameras would miss them. It wasn’t until Toppy came in, his uniform all pressed and his buttons and pins shining in the bright chamber lights, that the whole thing started to feel scarily like a trial to me.

  I gripped my armrests and stared down at my arms.

  Strong.

  Strong.

  “Strong,” I whispered like one of Mom’s yoga mantras. “Strong, strong, be strong.” Nobody was sending To
ppy to jail. Nobody would hurt him. The worst they could do was suspend him, or maybe fire him, and sentence me to California forever.

  Toppy sat down at his table, facing Mayor Chandler on the dais. For a split-second, I saw her face go soft and worried before it iced over into something more detached and professional.

  Next to me, Mom pulled out her Mac and started tapping and chewing on her lip. Lavender fussed with her phone, and Ms. Springfield tried to get Junior to come sit next to her. He wouldn’t do it. I wasn’t sure, but I thought the crowd might be bothering him like it seemed to be bothering Mom.

  My eyes went back to Toppy. He sat very straight in his seat. I straightened up in mine. Then, for no reason at all, I thought about making his tea and his oatmeal tomorrow morning, and how I wouldn’t get to again for a long time—maybe ever, some terrible part of my brain whispered—and tears tried to punch their way to my eyes. I took deep breaths and watched the city’s six aldermen get seated instead. There were three women and three men, mostly business people from Blue Creek. I knew one was a real estate agent, because I saw his face on signs all over the place.

  All six of them looked grim.

  Burning knots formed in my stomach. I reached into my arm pouch and pulled out the phone Toppy had bought for me. I had synced it with my iPad, so except for the smaller screen and thumb-typing, I could do a lot of the same work. I went into the message I had sent Lavender, pulled my list from the corkboard into Notes, and read it over.

  Tired of Being Invisible.

  Might Have Been Overshadowed By a Bad Person.

  Might Love a Bad Person Even Though They Know the Person Is Bad.

  Probably Knew About Detention.

  Probably Local.

  Probably Knows Us Pretty Well.

  Has Good Computer Skills or Money to Hire Hacker.

  My gaze shifted toward Junior, who seemed to be getting redder in the face as more and more people stuffed into the Council chamber. I so knew how he felt.

  Thump, thump, thump. The noises made me jump. My attention snapped back to the Council dais, and I saw Mayor Chandler tapping her finger on her microphone. The screens on the wall flickered to life, showing the mayor and the other chairs from the front.